


a million full stops on our skin

by bigstarkenergy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sad Ending, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 19:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigstarkenergy/pseuds/bigstarkenergy
Summary: Maybe I'm better off, a little taller now you're gonethe soft speakers play, and Tony wants to cry, or hide, or do anything other than hyperventilate in a fucking supply store.Instead, he stands frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to think, unable to breathe, unable to do anything besidesremember.





	a million full stops on our skin

**Author's Note:**

> There is mention of a panic attack and one mention of blood, so if that might trigger you, this is an advance warning.

Tony hears the song in a supply goods store, of all places. He shouldn’t even be there. Normally, he just has things shipped to him. But this is faster, and he’s in the area, and he just wanted one damn day where he could be Tony, not Tony Stark.

The song isn’t even his type of thing. He likes ACDC, rock and roll, heavy punk, things like that. This is the sort of indie shit that he normally pushes aside.

But from the second he hears the first line, he stops dead in his tracks. He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut, or in the face, or had a bomb shatter in his chest. (He has first hand experience with that one.)

 _Maybe I'm better off, a little taller now you're gone,_ the soft speakers play, and Tony wants to cry, or hide, or do anything other than hyperventilate in a fucking supply store.

Instead, he stands frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to think, unable to breathe, unable to do anything besides _remember_.

He can feel Steve’s arms digging into his shoulders, can feel his weight on his chest, can almost _taste_ his own blood. It tastes like regret, and a little like tears.

_Writing words and they don't sting, but they don't mean half as much without you listening._

The song keeps playing, and Tony stands there, in aisle seven at eleven at night, having a panic attack. He can see every memory they ever had, every touch Steve ever gave him, every sad smile and every melancholy word.

_You're like stood in the shadows, when I try to soften my words._

Tony remembers Steve standing aside at parties, participating but never truly enjoying himself, he can see Steve’s closed door, and the old familiar want to open it, he can remember the way Steve would shake his head and smile, politely, and say “Maybe not today, Tony.” He wants to punch him, wants to burn the memories, wants to watch them flicker and turn to ash.

(They won’t, and he doesn’t, but denial’s always been his strong suit.)

_Maybe we brought out the worst in each other._

That line makes Tony gasp for breath, makes the room spin. He can already hear the echoes of every fight they’ve ever had. It’s true, they’d never been particularly good to one another, never truly listened, never actually asked, never tried hard enough. Tony wants to go back and try harder, he wants to go back and apologize, he wants to go back and beat the shit out of Steve Rogers. He wants to go back, period.

There are so many things he’d do over.

_Wish I could stop writing us, God knows I've tried. Every moment immortalized._

Tony thinks of Steve’s old shield, tucked away in a corner somewhere, a spoil of war. He doesn’t want it. He wants to throw it at Steve’s head, wants to melt it down, turn it into scraps.

(He won’t. He just wants to. But he never really gets what he wants.)

_Maybe we brought out the worst in each other._

Tony heaves in a breath, and does his best not to cry in fucking aisle seven of the supply store.

_A million full stops on our skin._

A few people pass by, and give him strange looks, but he can’t bring himself to care. He leaves his cart, and stumbles his way through the store. He’s just through the door when he hears the last line, like a punch to the gut, a blow to the stomach, a slap to the face.

_But baby the songs that I wrote as your other, they're the best I'll ever sing._

He manages to make his way out of the store, and when he gets to his car, he breaks down, silently and quietly. It’s one of the lowest points of his life, which says a lot, truthfully.

He cries the whole way home, one line echoing through his head, over and over again, pounding its way through his skull.

_Maybe we brought out the worst in each other, but baby, the songs that I wrote as your other, they’re the best I’ll ever sing._

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at bigstarkenergy! Kudos and comments make me very happy!
> 
> Song and title are both Best I'll Ever Sing, by Maisie Peters.


End file.
